


To Hell and Back

by MaryTheGizka



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: (it's still crap alright..., Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, aka the improvised AU that nobody asked for, also body horror I suppose, alternate version of Victory Day, because destroying a planet will do that to you, because you know, just... less pessimistic crap), lightsabers are unsafe, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-06 17:33:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryTheGizka/pseuds/MaryTheGizka
Summary: If anyone had told her, barely a month ago, that she would face her Sith Lord ex, win, and spare him, Revan wouldn't have known what to do. And now... well, she still doesn't.





	1. Chapter 1

“I…I cannot help but wonder, Revan. What would have happened, had our positions been reversed? What if fate had decreed I would be captured by the Jedi? Could I have returned to the light, as you did? If you had not led me down the dark path in the first place, what fate would I have found?”

Revan clutches her side, but it is the question that burns her, more than his blade ever could. Ever since they first met on the Leviathan, ever since he fought her and hid behind blast doors, the question torments her, keeps her awake at night: _what have I done to him?_ And part of her resents him, wants to lash out at him for blaming her, tell him his path was his and his alone, that he didn’t _have_ to fall with her, and yet he chose to. Deep down, she knows better. His eyes bore into her, pleading for an answer. She doesn’t know. But those are his final moments, and the distress in his tone moves her. He coughs again, still looking up at her.

“Yes,” she says.

Malak doesn’t smile, not really – how could he? – but there’s hope in his voice as he manages to speak again.

“Are you sure about this, Revan?”

And that is when the present fades into the background. Now, of all times, she remembers.

* * *

The two of them shake and pant, training swords still in hand as they lean against a coarse pillar.

“Glad this is just for sport,” he smiles, and she understands they must have sneaked out of the enclave to spar in the ruins. “You’re the smallest person to ever beat me.”

“Is this you pretending I don’t know about that match against Vandar?” she smirks.

“Fine. The smallest human, then.”

They laugh. His forehead touches her and her lips reach up for his – full, soft, whole.

“Are you sure about this, Revan?” he breathes against her mouth. 

“Yes.”

She kisses him, and the memory fades.

* * *

She looks into his eyes. They had been blue, bluer than the ocean she had almost crashed into, and she knows now there was a time she would have gladly drowned in them. Now they are rimmed with red and glisten with unshed tears. 

She kneels at his side and brings a hand to his stomach, reaching out through the Force, but fails to heal his wounds.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She doesn’t know exactly what for, doesn’t know all that she’s done – all that _they’ve_ done – but she is.

Malak reaches for her hand, but lacks the strength to keep hold of it. She presses a kiss to his forehead.

“I wish I remembered more. I’m sorry.”

She pulls back and looks down at his wounds, and sees that the blood has stopped pouring. For a second, Revan thinks he’s gone, but there’s a pulse in his wrist and he closes his hand on hers.

He tries to speak, but only coughs, and the platform rattles as the bombardment intensifies.

“Go…” he manages, and Revan knows she has to. But something has her rooted here, her legs won’t move, her gut churns and she knows: her guilt won’t let her leave.

“Re…” he tries again, and this time she snaps out of her paralysis, and uses the Force to hoist him up and throw his arm over her shoulder.

“Don’t,” he rasps, and Revan hears the blood spattering inside the mask.

“Shut up and hold on,” she says, and proceeds to drag him to the hangar. He’s almost twice her weight, and they don’t have much time, so she calls on the Force again and prays the Ebon Hawk is still there. Somewhere along the way he loses consciousness, and when Revan makes it to the Hawk they both collapse on the metal deck.

“Help!” she shouts, “somebody help!” and she calls on the Force again, gripping onto what life he’s got left.

The engines hum and whir and the crew hurtles her way, and all freeze on the spot. Bastila pales. The ship sways as Carth dodges a shot, and Jolee finally speaks.

“Sithspit…”

“Jolee please…” she hates that she’s begging him, hates the horror on their faces, but none of it matters now.

Jolee curses under his breath and helps her pick him up. They set him down on one of the bunks, and Jolee shakes his head.

“You know, my sight is not what it used to be, but if this is who I think it is… you’re in for a rough patch, kid. Now go get a medkit. And bring me caf. I’ll need it.”

When she comes back with it, Jolee has removed the prosthetic, and she almost drops his caf. She’s seen wounded soldiers before, that is not the question, but this…well, she doesn’t know what to make of it. If she stares at it too long, she can almost hear a scream filled with the gurgle of blood. She wonders when it happened, if she was there when it did, if, somehow, she could have stopped it and if it would have changed anything. As if reading her thoughts, Jolee shrugs and hands her the metal jaw.

“Go clean that up.”

Her hands shake. She’s seen blood before, of course, and it’s absurd, really, but this is different and she doesn’t know why. What she does know, is that she’s cleaning the inside of a man’s jaw and that her hands are covered in blood, and that the ship has just landed and that she hears Carths steps closing in, and that she doesn’t know how to explain any of it. But the steps come to a halt, and she knows he has seen it. Revan braces herself, prepares to hear him say that she broke his trust, that she is insane, that Malak is too dangerous to be kept alive, but Carth doesn’t say anything and waits for her to speak first. It would have been easier if he hadn’t.

“I know what you’re going to say, Carth.”

“Yes? Well I’m not gonna say I like it. And I can’t imagine what it’s like for Bastila but… it’s what she did for you.”

She expected anger. Bitterness. Questions. Like after their escape from the Leviathan. _After all Revan did… how can any of us forgive her?_ But there is none of that in his words, just resigned acceptance and somehow, it hurts more.

“That’s it?”

“Of course not. This is Darth Malak. He destroyed my life.” _It was you… you killed my wife, you ravaged my world. You… you destroyed my life._ “The simple fact that we’re saving his life… it makes me sick, Revan.”

She nods. She understands.

“I’m not going to stop you,” he adds. “But I’m angry. And the worse part? I know it’s not gonna fix things, I know Telos and Taris are gone and there’s nothing I can do about it, but I can’t just… I can’t just stop hating him!”

“I know,” she says. “I’m not asking you to.”

They look at each other and she knows it’s not enough, knows he doesn’t understand and wishes he did.

“It’s not something I can explain, Carth. I’m not entirely sure why I did it but I… I saw something and I was lost.”

“You saw something?”

She puts the mask down and takes a deep breath.

“If I told you you’d just hate me more.”

“I don’t hate you!” he protests, and she knows it’s the truth, but she doesn’t want to risk it.

“But you wouldn’t understand.”

“Was it something you did? Something Revan did?”

She simply nods again.

“Then if you don’t tell me, tell Bastila. Or the Council. Or someone. The war is not over, Revan, and if it’s anything that can help us win…”

“No it’s…” she tries to find the proper wording, one that will stop the heat from rising to her cheeks. She shouldn’t feel embarrassed. At least _that_ wasn’t a crime. But she can’t just tell him like that. “It’s nothing of the sort.”

Carth raises an eyebrow, and just for a second she wonders if he understood, but thinks better of it and turns around to wash her hands. 

“I should bring this to Jolee.” 

“Okay.”

She can hear Jolee swear all the way across the corridor.

“Blast it, kid! Will you just keep still! That was enough sedative to knock out a bantha!”

Malak stirs, half awake, and Revan can’t tell if he sees her or not but he turns his face away as if to hide it from her. It doesn’t work very well.

“He’ll live, alright,” Jolee says, readjusting the prosthetic. “But he’s lucky you got here in time.”

“Thank you, Jolee.” 

He looks at her sternly, and she can tell the conversation is anything but over.

“Did you use a hand grenade?”

“A concussion grenade… I was trying to stun him.”

“Well next time you plan on bringing someone to me you let up on the shrapnel, girl. I’m not a medical droid.”

“’I’m afraid there wasn’t really a _plan_ behind this…”

“Ah! You’re telling me. The real question is how you managed to drag this one here. He’s a lot more fidgety than he looks.”

“Well, he lost consciousness along the way…”

“Yes, that makes sense,” he sighs. “Maybe you did stun him, in the end.”

Revan shakes her head, but she can’t help smiling at Jolee’s little quips.

“You should get some rest, kid. You’re not out of the bush yet.”

He doesn’t ask her why she saved him, and for that she is grateful. Perhaps he already knows. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it doesn’t matter all that much. She lies down on her bunk and falls into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

It’s night when she wakes up, but she needs a shower – badly – so she tries to keep quiet and gets out of the bunk.

“What happens now?”

Malak’s voice startles her – as if she could have forgotten he was here – and it takes her a while to answer.

“I don’t know.” She swallows, suddenly very aware of the mess she’s gotten herself into. Not that she’s made the wrong choice, but there will be… complications. She can’t hide him forever, and ultimately, the Republic will make contact.

“Master Vandar is with the fleet,” she says, as if that clarifies everything. “So this is when you get the answer to what you asked me earlier.”

They won’t kill him, at least she doesn’t think they will, but apart from that she doesn’t know what to expect.

“And what happened then?”

This time, Revan turns around, and tries to meet his gaze in the half-light.

“Then?”

“On the Star Forge.”

She can’t keep it secret, not from him, but she's not prepared to answer this.

“Well, you fainted and…”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Why did you save me?”

_Oh, boy_. _Here we go._

“I don’t know why I saved you but… I saw something.”

“Something?”

“Us. I think it was the first time I beat you.”

She hears him take a deep breath and shift a little.

“Just the duel then?”

She shakes her head.

“I’m pretty sure we were done fighting…”

“You remembered that?” she doesn’t know if it’s pain or hope that she hears in his voice, but she decides not to dwell on the question.

“Or maybe just part of it,” she nods, and there is a long silence after that.

“I, uh… I’ll be back in a bit. I smell like a Tauntaun.”

When she comes back, he’s asleep again, and it’s a strange sight, really, the ferocious, fearsome Dark Lord tucked under a too-small cover with his arm dangling out to the side, and for the first time since they escaped the Star Forge, Revan feels a small measure of peace. It will not last, of course, so she allows herself to enjoy it while it does. She tucks herself back in and drowses off to sleep, a smile creeping onto her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

Malak awakes to the sound of hushed voices and boots pacing outside the dorm. There is tension, agitation, and the crew feels like a platoon waiting for a battle that never seems to come. In fact, Malak suspects Revan is the only one still asleep. And it’s an odd feeling, really, the former Dark Lord peacefully asleep mere meters away from him, neither thrashing in her sleep nor staring at the ceiling like her old self would have during the war. It’s an odd feeling too, being here, right next to her, and not being angry or scared or preparing to reach for a lightsaber. It’s certainly not as odd as listening to the ebb and flow of her breathing and finding some sort of comfort in it, after all she’s done to him and after all he’s done to her. If anyone had told him, barely a day ago, that this was all about to happen, he would have dismissed it as the ravings of a lunatic. But near-death has a way of putting things in perspective. In a way, it still feels like a hallucination, like a waking fever dream. But there is no fever to begin with, and the pain in his side makes him more than aware that the sedatives have worn off for some time. It’s not a dream. Revan is here, and she’s not the enemy.

He thinks about what she told him, about her memory and the people they used to be – young, rebellious and high on life – and cannot help but think of how much they have changed. She’s still the same Revan and at the same time… she’s not. She’s still the brash, relentless, hypnotic woman who led them all into battle, but there’s a naïveté he’s never seen in his master, as if the horrors of the war, as if her fall to the dark side, as if everything in her that once instilled fear and despair were just… gone. He doesn’t know what to make of that. Revan just saved his life, minutes after he tried to kill her. His fleet was in shambles, the Star Forge was coming down - she had _won - _and she dragged him here to save his life as if it were the most evident thing to do. _Darth_ Revan would have cut his head off without a second thought. Or rather, her second thoughts wouldn’t have stopped her. She said she remembered them, and he believes she did, but he knows the old Revan wouldn’t have let her emotions get in the way. And that’s the thing about Jedi training, isn’t it? Those who remember it have always been the deadliest Sith. But she doesn’t even know that, does she?

For a moment he envies her, with her steadfast faith in redemption and that counterfeit innocence that must feel so real to her and all the guilt she doesn’t carry. But such blissful ignorance will forever remain beyond his reach. Billions have died because of him, and each death is a bloodstain he can never wash his hands of, an echo in his skull that will never truly die out. And he deserves it. His head throbs. She wants him to confront the Jedi, to try and redeem himself – at least, he thinks she does, why else would she... But it doesn't matter. He will indulge her, give in to his own foolish hope that perhaps, only perhaps, there is something left of what he was. What they both were. What she’s finding her way back to. Yes, ‘foolish’ is the word. He knows – the whole galaxy knows – that his actions can’t be erased. By anything. Which isn’t to say that partial, calibrated memory-loss, would be entirely unwelcome… no, that is just silly. Perhaps, after all, death would have been the easy path. A coward's path, to be sure, but... no. She came back. She saved his life. Risked hers when she should have fled. That has to be worth _something..._

His train of thought is interrupted when the door opens and the old man – he believes his name is Jolee – comes in with a bowl of… well, something very pungent. Day-old sweat and dried blood never smelled of flowers to begin with, but this is simply bordering on the obscene.

Jolee halts near the bed.

“Ah, you’re awake! Well don’t look at me like that, it’s the ointment that smells foul.”

Ah, it’s for him. Marvelous.

“It’ll help the stitches heal faster.”

Malak reluctantly pulls his shirt up and lets Jolee remove the bandages. He is grateful for the gesture, truly, but… Force, the smell.

He doesn’t know if it’s because of it, but this is the moment Revan chooses to wake up, and as far as he can tell, she’s not very fond of it either.

“For kriff’s sake, Jolee, what did you put in that thing?”

The old man shakes his head and smiles.

“Bah! Youngsters. If you’d been impaled by a katarn’s tooth, you wouldn’t mind the smell that much.”

Jolee spreads the mixture over his wounds and dresses them with a kolto patch.

“There. Good as new.”

“Thank you.”

Jolee snorts.

“Trifles. I could do this with my eyes closed. I fought in the Sith wars, you know, and my Nayama… she would get scratches all the time…”

A cloud passes over his face, and he turns to face Revan.

“I’ll tell the others you’re awake. Bastila’s been meaning to talk to you.”

“I don’t think you’ll need to…”

Before Revan can finish her sentence, Bastila appears in the doorway. She freezes on the spot, shaking like a dead leaf. The Force pulses off her in bursts and something tells him he will slam head first into the bulkhead if he so much as speaks out of turn.

“Good morning, Revan.”

Her voice is tense, threatening to break. She’s terrified.

“Good morning, Bastila. How are you holding up?”

Even Malak can tell this is the wrong question.

“How does it look?”

“Like… you could use some sleep.”

“I can’t, Revan! Not after what I’ve done. Not when Malak himself is on the Ebon Hawk.”

This time, Revan gets up and places a hand on Bastila’s shoulder.

“Bastila, I…”

“I don’t blame you, Revan. It was a noble act but… I fear we are taking a risk that we cannot handle. A risk _I_ cannot handle. We must report to the Council before we’re in over our heads.”

“I’m always in over my head, in case you didn’t notice.”

At least _that_ is a truth they can all agree on.

Bastila sighs.

“I suppose… I suppose I’m just… overwhelmed by all of this. But I would feel better if we could contact Master Vandar without delay. I don’t think I can resume life as a Jedi without the Council’s help.”

Revan nods.

“I understand.”

* * *

Eventually, Malak has to stand and join them in the main hold, because Master Vandar has arrived and it doesn’t feel like he has a choice. He doesn’t know what to expect, but the master’s cordial greeting is not it.

“Good morning, Alek.”

If the Jedi is angry, he doesn’t let it show.

“Good morning, Master Vandar.”

“It is good to see that Bastila and you have renounced the ways of the Sith.”

Right. ‘_Bastila and you’. _Because Bastila _obviously_ destroyed a planet while he was asleep.

“The road to redemption isn’t an easy one, but there is hope yet for those who choose to follow it.”

Vandar’s words feel empty, like a promise he’s made too many times, but perhaps there is more truth to it than Malak once believed.

“You will have to stand trial, but as you already know, we Jedi don’t have a habit of killing out prisoners.” He pauses to look at Revan. “Bastila has expressed her wish to travel with me as we head back for Coruscant.”

Revan lowers her gaze, shame rolling off her in waves, as if she were the one to blame.

“Before we leave, Jyn, I must ask you: what happened on the Star Forge?”

“He was wounded and expressed regrets. I simply took the opportunity.”

Her expression doesn’t change, her tone doesn’t waver. She hates lying, or at least she used to, but she’s always been good at it.

“I see. Is there anything else?”

“No,” she lies again.

“Then we shall meet again on Coruscant.”

Bastila follows him as he sets out to leave, but he turns around once more as he reaches the exit ramp.

“And may the Force be with you all.”

One doesn’t need the Force to see that Onasi is on the verge of a breakdown.

“Why would you openly lie to the Jedi like this? You said you had a vision, and now you tell them there was nothing? What game are you playing?”

“It’s none of your business Carth.”

Her words immediately set him off.

“Damn right it is! You go off to stop Malak and the next thing we know, you remembered ‘something’ and you bring him onboard and ask Jolee to heal him, and now on top of it you’re lying to the Jedi!”

“Well, it’s not like _they_ never lied to me.”

“Is that what this is about? Payback?”

“Of course not!”

“Then tell us what! Tell the Council. Tell me. What happened on the Star Forge, Revan?”

“And what would that sound like, uh?!” she shouts. “Now, let me see… ‘He said he was sorry and then I had a vision of Malak and I smooching each other, and it felt like a big deal so I decided to wing it and see’. Oh yeah, great sell, Carth.”

The lieutenant’s face falls and he opens his mouth, but no sound seems to make it out.

“What?” she bites. “Loth-cat got your tongue?”

Carth looks away.

“It doesn’t feel right. Saving him. Lying to the Council. _Any_ of it.”

“Then feel free to enlighten them, but do it yourself because I’m _done _talking about my memories with the very people who tried to take them away.”

“Yeah? How about the people who tried to kill you?”

Touché.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Carth turns on his heel and heads straight for the cockpit, and he can tell that Revan immediately regrets her words. Minutes later, the engines are whirring.

* * *

It’s a long trip to Coruscant, and while Malak doesn’t see a problem with skulking and mulling over his guilt, there are trivial matters that will, eventually, require his attention. He decides to start with the easiest.

He finds Revan in the main hold, absently scrolling through a datapad that’s obviously seen better days.

“Revan?”

She looks up from her datapad.

“Hm?”

“Do you mind me using the sonic?”

“Oh, not at all but…” she bites her lower lip, like she used to do when she was embarrassed. “You’re going to need clothes.”

He nods.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“_I_ don’t have anything your size, though. No one here does, but Carth might be the closest fit.”

Ah. Carth. _Sorry I bombed your planet, do you have a spare pair of shorts?_ No, not awkward at all.

“Forget it.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll ask.”

She gets up from her seat and marches out of the room. There’s yelling in the port-side dorm. Silence. More yelling. Eventually she comes back with a pile of clothes and puts it in his hands. There’s a set of worn out pyjama pants and a tee-shirt with holes the size of his hand. They’ll do.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been a day since they left the planet Malak refers to as Lehon, and the atmosphere on the ship is still unbearably tense. Carth sulks, Mission greases her blasters, and HK regularly enquires about whether or not she has changed her mind about his offer of evisceration of ‘Meatbag Prime’, who, in turn, carefully avoids the three of them and lurks in the starboard dorm in holey pyjamas. Canderous refrains from any comment on the subject. Juhani keeps her composure but has withdrawn completely, and Revan wonders if her friend is beginning to doubt her as well or if the memories of her own fall are simply too much to bear. Jolee takes it on the chin and even checks on Malak from time to time, but Revan notices his air of wistfulness, the way he sighs to himself when he thinks no one can hear.

It’s her fault. All of it. It’s her fault Jolee’s sad, it’s her fault Mission’s scared, it’s fault Carth won’t talk to her and it’s her fault Malak fell and the galaxy burns. And the worst part of it? There’s no way to make it right. She couldn’t kill Malak on the Star Forge, and Force knows she can’t ask them to forgive him. She can’t ask them to forgive _her_ either, because given the same choice, there’s a good chance she would do it again. There’s no trick, no quick fix. And that’s the thing about war, isn’t it? There’s no happy ending.

So she just sits there in the main hold, staring at an old datapad, unable to focus on anything she reads.

“Your eyes are gonna dry out if you keep staring at that thing without blinking.”

It’s Jolee. She offers him a rueful smile.

“I didn’t see you there.”

He sits down next to her, and she’s thankful for the company.

“Oh, I know you didn’t. You’ve been thinking too much, kid.”

“And you haven’t?”

Jolee sighs.

“Alright, you got me. But that doesn’t mean you should do the same, does it?”

“Why not? It’s my fault it all happened in the first place.”

“Is it? I was under the impression the dark side was far older than you. Or even me, for that matter. Who would have thought?”

Revan snorts.

“I guess. But it’s my fault _this_ time.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. There’s no point in assigning blame, kid. The past can give you clues to understand the present, but you can’t go back and change it. What matters is what you do now and what you’ll do next.”

“And what would you do?” she asks.

“I think we’ve established it’s not my place to give advice on those matters.”

Revan’s eyes widen.

“That might be the first time I hear you say that.”

“Yes, well… if you’d been paying attention to my stories, I wouldn’t need to say it. I’ve made mistakes myself, and I have no lessons to give you on this account.”

“So you think I’m making a mistake, then?”

“No, I don’t think you are but I wish… I wish I were as good as forgetting as I claim to be.”

“Oh. Want to trade?”

Jolee simply shakes his head, and there is a short silence after that.

“Is this… is this about your wife?”

“Ah… and there I thought I was being cryptic. Maybe you did pay attention after all.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with our current situation.”

Or maybe she doesn’t want to see.

“Oh, give me a break, kid. I spared her. You spared him. And I keep telling myself…I just hope the stories diverge from now on.”

“Wait, are you implying…”

“I’m not implying anything you didn’t say yourself, and before you get on your high horse, no, I’m not going to lecture you about it. It’s your job to figure it out.”

Revan nods.

“But it affects you.”

“Of course. When you share years with someone, it doesn’t just disappear into thin air. The bond thins out over time, but never completely. And that means that sometimes, you’re reminded of them, usually at the wrong place and time, no matter how hard you try not to.”

Right. Now, this is oddly specific.

“Give it time, Jyn. I’ll be alright. And you should try to be too.”

He sets a hand on her shoulder.

“Now,” he says, “I’m going to see if Canderous needs help with dinner, so get that stomach ready.”

He leaves her alone with her thoughts, and he’s right, she thinks too much – except when she doesn’t think at all. She knows her brain is a mess, she’s known it for weeks now, but the turmoil doesn’t quiet.

There is something peculiar about having Malak aboard the ship, a mix of confusion and familiarity. It shouldn’t feel familiar. It shouldn’t feel safe. She should keep an eye on him, make sure it’s not a ruse, but it doesn’t feel like a ruse, it… it feels real. Revan focuses her awareness on the dorm. For all she knows, he’s not even shielding. There is sorrow, loss, hope, envy – towards whom, she does not know – and a faint spark of joy quickly obscured by guilt... but no hate. And perhaps that’s enough for now. Perhaps that’s all she can ask for. So she quiets her mind and lets her legs carry her to the dorm. She’ll see where this gets her.

She finds him lying on his bunk, staring at the ceiling.

“Canderous made dinner, do you… I mean I don’t suppose you would, um…”

Revan stops. She shouldn’t be asking this.

Malak props himself up.

“Eat?” he offers.

She bites her lips and looks down. It’s such a stupid question after what she’s seen, but it’s just as absurd to assume he doesn’t.

“Yes. Eat.”

“I _should_ but… I suspect no one else will be able to if I join you.”

As much as she hates to admit it, it might be a safe assumption.

“And if I remember correctly…” he continues, “let’s just say Mandalorian food requires a certain amount of mastication.”

Revan scrunches her nose. It does.

“Well, there’s always Jolee’s soup, if you want.”

Malak raises an eyebrow, but his tone betrays his amusement.

“Does it smell like the ointment?”

Revan snorts.

“Nah. I’ll save you a bowl.”

Malak looks her up and down. A few seconds go by before he speaks.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Revan shrugs. She knows that. In fact, she shouldn’t even want to be anywhere near him, but, perhaps irrationally, she finds that she doesn’t mind his presence all that much. Besides, she didn’t risk her life dragging an unconscious Sith Lord through a crumbling space station for him to die of starvation right after.

“You know I’m still going to, right?”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” he sighs. “But I’d understand if you didn’t.” He looks down at his feet. “Some grudges are hard to swallow.”

The thing is, she should hold a grudge. Or as the Jedi would remind her, she shouldn’t, but it would be natural to do so. Taris. Dantooine. Bastila. Her. She has countless reasons to resent him. And she does, to an extent, but… it should be far more than that. She doesn’t know what to make of it, and she doesn’t know how to talk about it, so she settles for a stale joke instead.

“Not as hard as Canderous’ roba ribs, I’m sure.”

Malak’s cheeks rise just a little, and it’s hard to read his expression with nearly half his face missing, but she believes it might be a smile.

“Alright. I’ll sneak out when you’re done.”

For a second she tries to imagine what that would look like, Darth Malak ‘sneaking out’ of any room, but her brain can’t seem to conjure up the image. She nods and turns around to leave, but his voice stops her in her tracks.

“Revan?”

She looks over her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

* * *

It is barely daybreak when they finally land on Coruscant, and Malak has slipped back into his now somewhat patched-up armour, not because of the morning chill but because you can’t very well face the Jedi council in your pyjamas. The sun is still rising behind the soaring towers, casting its reddish light through the glass panes of the cockpit, and already, Revan feels the clamour building up on the platform, the rustle of the masses gathering around for a show. There’s no backing down, now. There never was.

A whisper runs among the crowd as they step out of the Ebon Hawk, and Revan narrows her eyes against the bright flashes of the cameras. It takes more than a row of armed guards to keep the _Coruscant Herald_ away. It’s a long, oppressive walk to the end of the platform, where Vandar and Vrook are waiting next to an airspeeder. They shake hands and board the speeder.

Neither Revan nor Malak dare meet the Masters’ eyes as they glide smoothly above the streets.

It takes her a while to look up, and when she does, Vandar smiles at her.

“Even as a child you would cast me that look when you’d done something wrong. But rest assured, Jyn, you have nothing to be ashamed of today.”

Vrook’s eyes narrow at Vandar.

“They’re not wayward children anymore, Master Vandar. They’re dangerous.”

“They are.” There is a sadness in Vandar’s tone. “But all our hopes rest on them.”

Vrook scoffs, and Revan cannot help but wonder: what hopes? Is there another scheme, another lie involved? She probes for answers, but the masters’ minds are sealed tight.

They spend the rest of the ride in silence.

* * *

The audience goes about as well as she could have expected. The air is cold and static as they stand in the Council Chamber, waiting for the Masters to speak. There are only six of them, four of which she’s never met. It’s the woman in white who speaks first.

“Finally,” her voice is sharp, almost icy. “It is fitting that you would face us again – though such a sudden turn remains beyond my understanding. Do you have any idea what the horrors you’ve wrought have cost us? How many lives could have been saved had you only listened?”

“You must forgive Atris,” the other woman says. “She has lost… connections during the war. We Jedi are supposed to forego attachments… but that is more easily said than achieved. And I cannot imagine what you’ve been through yourself.”

“Save me your false pity, Master Vash. I don’t deserve it and you don’t feel it.”

“I felt it for Revan. Why not for you?”

“Because Revan is different! She doesn’t know what she’s done! I do. And some of it, I’d do again, because we both know,_ Master_, that you wouldn’t lift a finger if a basilisk war droid landed in your courtyard!”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. _She doesn’t know what she’s done._

“Are you saying you have no regrets?” Vash continues.

“No. I regret falling to the dark side. I regret Taris. I regret Telos and Dantooine. But I don’t regret going to war.”

Vrook scoffs.

“And there it is. Arrogance. Defiance. Even as you seek redemption, you mock our teachings. And yet had you heeded our warnings, perhaps your fall could have been prevented.”

“You don’t understand, do you? There are worse threats out there, in the Unknown Regions, worse than the Mandalorians, worse even than Revan and I. I didn’t come here for forgiveness. A small step towards redemption, perhaps, but forgiveness? We both know I’m past that. No, I’m here because…” He casts Revan a brief glance. “Well I’m not entirely sure _why_. But there is one thing the Republic must know.”

“Go on.”

“The Star Forge was but a tool. At least, that’s what Revan wanted. A fleet to crush the enemy. But the real threat lies elsewhere.” Malak takes a deep breath. “I believe there is something out there, something of the Dark Side, something that sent the Mandalorians to us… and drew us to it.”

Malak pauses again.

“I don’t believe there will be peace until it has been subdued.”

Vrook frowns.

“And you know this because…”

Malak casts her a grave look, and Revan knows she’s not going to like what comes next.

“When we came back from the Unknown Regions, entire chunks of our memories were missing. Days, maybe weeks. They still haven’t come back fully. I remember a city in the jungle. A dark temple, and rain. I remember an old man, casting lightning at us. And that is all.”

The masters look at each other in silence.

“This is… unsettling news. If such forces are indeed conspiring against us, then more dark times might be ahead. We will contact the Chancellor and investigate the matter as soon as you depart.”

“Depart?”

Vandar nods gravely.

“The war is not over. Remnants of _your_ Empire still harass Republic troops in the Outer Rim. Several capital ships have been ambushed no later than this morning, and with the losses suffered over the Star Forge, I fear we have little time before the Republic is overwhelmed. Whoever assumed command of Sith forces acted swiftly, and ruthlessly. We need you to put an end to this.”

“And just claim back the throne?”

With that, Malak reaches for the holotable.

“May I?”

Vandar nods, and Malak rattles off the headlines.

“ ‘_Peace Talks with the Empire?’, ‘War Crime Trial In Sight?’, ‘Major Victory in the Unknown Regions’, ‘Mystery Knight Sways Dark Lord’_, a picture of the handshake_…_ need I go on? Half of Coruscant saw me walk here without restraints. If I haven’t been deposed yet, it’s a matter of hours at best.”

Vrook stands up from his seat.

“It doesn’t matter _how_ you stop the Sith remnants from attacking us, as long as you do. Perhaps it is foolish of us to trust you two with this but… you know their ways better than any of us. If we are to take out their new leader, that makes you the best option we have.”

“Assassination, then?”

Vandar looks down. Vash swallows. Vrook nods.

“If need be.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Temple feels lifeless. Empty. It’s the way their footsteps echo as the masters guide them back towards the airspeeder. It’s the absence of voices reverberating on the ceiling, of students whispering or hurrying across the hall. Most of all, it’s the faces he doesn’t see. Meetra. Zhar. Old Nemo. Perhaps they’re dead, rotting somewhere in the ruins of the Enclave on Dantooine. Perhaps he’s killed them. From afar, through assassins, through bombs… he doesn’t know. Perhaps there’s no way of knowing, and if they were alive, they wouldn’t want to see him. Because it’s his doing. His and Revan’s, yes, but mostly his. And there’s no forgetting that. Perhaps that’s why he was so scared of coming back. Perhaps that’s why he thought he would choose death over redemption. What he had failed to consider, was that Revan would be the one to bring him back… and that changes everything. It always has, and there’s a good chance it always will. Still, perhaps that won’t be enough.

He casts Vrook a quick glance

_‘Assassination, then?’_

_‘If need be.’_

He should have seen it coming. He should have known they would use him too, the way they have used her, the way they’re _still_ using her, but the strange part is, he doesn’t even mind. At least they’re being honest about it. At least they’re doing _something_, not like all those years ago, when the galaxy burned and they sat back and watched. The problem is, helping them won’t change a thing. It won’t erase what he’s done. It won’t bring true, lasting peace. Not if the Republic fails to prepare itself, not as long as the threat still lurks in the shadows. _Peace_. What would he know about peace? He’s only ever waged war. And he wants peace, he does, but… it almost feels like a myth, or a children’s story. Something you might easily dismiss as an outright lie. He wasn’t always like that. Even after Quelli, he had hoped, for a time. He and Revan would bring peace, once and for all… except they didn’t, and fell to the Dark Side instead. It all feels so pointless now.

They pass by the fountain at the end of the hall, and perhaps he stares at it a little too long, or perhaps his steps come to a brief halt, he doesn’t really know, but Revan stops and looks at him.

“What is it?” she asks, almost in a whisper.

“Nothing,” he says, but Revan casts him a severe look, and he can tell she’s not buying it.

He gestures towards the small pool.

“One night, we sneaked out of the dorms and went for a midnight swim. Well, more of a midnight paddle, really. Got a cold, too, but we had fun. We were sixteen… and Zhar was furious.”

“In this thing?”

Malak nods.

“Whose idea?”

Oh, that one’s obvious.

“Yours.”

Revan gives him an apologetic half-smile, and for a fraction of a second, Malak catches himself hoping she remembers. There’s no point. She doesn’t.

“Come on,” she says, and they resume walking.

The masters are a good ten meters away, now, not that their pace makes it hard to catch up. That’s one thing he never quite understood about the Jedi Council. How slowly they always moved, even with war at their doorstep. How one could remain this calm and glide on through life, even as their worlds burned and their students died. He’s in no position to lecture them, of course – or anyone else, really – but he still doesn’t fully understand. There was a time he would wonder if some of them had ever been human. Now, he only wonders if he still is.

They’re outside, now, and Revan casts him a worried look as they board the speeder again. Vrook hazards a question.

“Where do you plan on starting?”

They look at each other, and there’s no knowing what the other thinks but…

“Korriban,” they both say.

Vrook nods. It makes sense. Korriban has always meant trouble for the Republic, and the old master knows that. It doesn’t stop him from asking:

“Why?”

Revan shrugs.

“A hunch.”

“Well, that,” he adds, “and the fact that the third fleet was stationed there before I… was defeated on the Star Forge. And since the first two were destroyed in the battle…”

“That makes it the best place to start tracking our new fleet admiral.”

“Exactly.”

Vrook tilts his head to the side.

“Any idea who that could be?”

“Normally, Saul Karath would have assumed command, but he and his second were killed three weeks ago, and I… haven’t had the occasion to look further into the matter.”

Malak doesn’t need to tell them why. Bastila was hardly the first prisoner he’d tortured, nor the one who’d suffered the most… but she was the closest to Revan, and the way she winces at his words is enough to deter him from any further explanation.

“The Sith Academy might be a lead as well. I’ve long been wary of Uthar Wynn’s ambition, but in light of recent developments… Perhaps Jorak Uln?”

Revan shakes her head.

“No. Dead too.”

Ah. He should have guessed. No matter. There are enough upstarts on Korriban that the new Sith leader might still be one of them. And if they’re not… well he doesn’t have much else to go on. But no one presses the matter, and there’s a slight, temporary relief in not having to say more.

They reach the landing pad, and the crowd has been dispelled – mostly – so they hasten towards the ship until…

“Lord Malak?”

Kriff.

“Lord Malak?” the voice repeats.

Malak keeps walking, until a small, purple-haired woman plants herself in front of him and extends a firm, steady hand.

“Bariss Lane, from the Coruscant Herald.”

Malak grudgingly shakes it, then tries to get round her. The woman shifts to the side, effectively blocking his path, and the words ‘force choke’ briefly cross his mind… no, no. This is not the way.

“As you can see, Miss Lane, we are in a hurry.”

“I’ll be brief,” she says, and gets a pad out of her pocket. “Do you foresee an end to the war in the near future?”

The truth is, he doesn’t know.

“Lord Malak,” she repeats. “Is the Empire currently negotiating a ceasefire with the Republic?”

“Ask them,” he snaps.

The woman starts scribbling.

“Lord Malak,” she says, “am I to understand that you are no longer affiliated with the Sith Empire? Are you then to be tried as a citizen of the Republic?”

Malak feels his knuckles crack. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. What he does know, right now, is that he wants her gone.

“Lord Malak?” she repeats, and if she says it once more, he’s going to explode. He has no answers for her. And from what he can tell, Revan doesn’t either – not that the woman pays her much heed. That doesn’t stop her from stepping forward and leaning towards the journalist, as if to whisper in her ear.

“It’s classified Jedi business, Miss. Now if you’ll excuse us…”

The woman frowns, but relents.

“Well, then,” she says, handing Revan a card, “should any developments arise… you may contact me at any time.”

Revan slips the card in her pocket and forces a smile.

“I’ll bear it in mind.”

The woman nods and walks away.

“Tell me you’re throwing that away.”

“Nope.”

“Fantastic.”

* * *

There’s tension in the lieutenant’s voice – who could blame him, really? - but the briefing hasn’t yet turned into open warfare, which Malak supposes he should feel grateful for.

“So… Korriban, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“You know I almost thought the war would be over after all this. That all we had to do was kill Malak and all would magically fall into place. Turns out, we haven’t killed Malak, and things are not falling into place.”

Ah.

“I told you Carth, I can’t just…”

“I know, and I never asked you to! I just… I’m tired alright. I just want it to be over.”

“You don’t have to do this Carth. You’ve done more than enough. You’ve earned some rest, and time with your son.”

“You think I’m leaving you alone with _him?_”

No. Not a chance.

“I’m not alone, Carth.”

“You’re right, I… these past few weeks have been a lot. And I don’t know anything about the Force, but I’m beginning to think it really hates me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Malak doesn’t know what happened that she should feel sorry for, but he can tell she’s apologizing for more than just his presence here. For some reason, it’s not helping.

“If any of you wants to leave…”

The crew stares at her, but doesn’t move.

“Alright, then. To Korriban.”

* * *

It’s a few more hours to Korriban, and the ship is silent save for the soft whir of the machines and the distant sound of Jolee’s snoring. He finds Revan alone in the cockpit, eyes lost in the blue void, and a few seconds go by before she notices his presence

“Oh, hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Malak shakes his head. It’s easier to let go of guilt when you think of the other as the enemy. But when they’re not anymore… well.

“You’re not sleeping either.”

“No. I had a flashback.”

Ah. That’s why.

“What did you see?”

“This,” she says, gesturing at the blue vortex, “and a planet. Clouded. Blue.”

“That could be anything.”

“Or worth nothing. I know. And I hate that. Not knowing.”

At least _that_ hasn’t changed.

She turns away and leans against the dashboard, all but glaring at the blue tunnel in front.

And then she reaches into her side-pocket and pulls the calling card out, along with a crumpled paper note, only to shove them in a small, overflowing drawer right underneath the dashboard, and he feels a faint smile creep up his ravaged face, because really, that’s such a Revan thing to do.

It’s only been three days. Three days since they were at each other’s throats. Three days since he tried to kill her. Three days since she saved his life. But for a mere instant, a few seconds at most, he looks at her and almost forgets all that’s happened. The betrayals, the wars, the pain… he looks at her and all he sees is the Revan from Dantooine, his Revan, the one from before the war, the one who laughed and argued and sparred with him in the fields. The one who liked sunsets and fast ships and climbing dangerously high trees. But then, she looks back at him, and she’s so tired and confused and _lost_. The first time she gave him that look… well, her world had just collapsed, and he had been the one to bring it down. And he remembers, still, the words that crossed his mind then: _she’s not Revan. She’s her corpse._

He couldn’t have been further from the truth. Corpses don’t remember. Corpses do not feel pain, and it’s obvious that Revan does. She’s broken, yes, but she’s not a corpse. In the end, she’s just like him: missing a piece, scarred by one she trusted, trying to ignore her wound, yet always reminded something’s gone. Now all she has is a dull throbbing in a gaping hole. And at the time, it felt like she deserved it but right now… right now, he wishes she were whole. He’d feel a bit less monstrous if she were. The mere thought is absurd. She’s not, and she won’t be.

“What is it?” she says.

“Nothing,” he lies.

“It’s not nothing,” she counters, and she’s right, but he can’t tell her that, so he points at the drawer instead.

“Well… you don’t really need _all_ that junk, Win, do you?”

Revan’s eyebrows narrow ever so slightly.

“Win?”

Oh. Of course. She doesn’t know.

“Winama? Winama Erso?”

Revan blinks. Once. Twice.

“Revan’s just Quellian for ‘daydream’,” he explains.

“Really? What’s ‘Malak’, then?”

“Honestly? You just added an ‘m’.”

She frowns.

“Wha… were we drunk?”

“Very much so.”

Revan simply purses her lips.

“I swear I’m not making it up,” he says, lifting both hands up. Then it hits him that her name is but one of the things she ought to know about herself. Alright, then. Step one.

“How old are you?” he blurts out.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“How old are you?” he repeats. It’s utterly ridiculous, but then, is there one thing about the whole situation that is _not_?

She quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Is that a trick question?”

“Yes. How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight?”

“Hm hm. Plus six.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Revan seems to think, then smirks at him.

“Well, I think I look great for a woman my age.”

Malak snorts.

“Yes. You also have a very bad memory for a woman your age.”

The words tumble out before he can stop them. He’s an idiot.

“Did you just…”

Yes, yes, he did, and if he had a tongue, he’d be biting it hard.

“I’m sorry.”

Revan nods absently.

“I, um… I’m going to bed.”

And she leaves him alone in the cockpit, staring at the blue vortex before him. He’s an idiot.


	5. Chapter 5

“This is never going to work,” Malak says, pulling the cowl over his head as he steps out onto the access ramp.

Maybe. Maybe not. _Probably_ not.

“We’ll see.”

Surprisingly enough, it does, and Malak and her make their way through Dreshdae without being recognized. Well, it’s either that, or everyone around is too scared to make a move, for if there is something Revan has learnt in her time here, it’s that a Sith will only pick a fight with someone they _think_ they can beat… and the former Dark Lord and the knight he couldn’t kill probably don’t fall into this category. Or, the Sith are too busy murdering each other in their sleep. The point is, no one tries to stop them, and for now, this is enough.

When they reach the Academy, the guards do not stop them either. So far, so good. They make their way past the front gate, and, almost immediately, Revan’s heartbeat speeds up imperceptibly. There is something about this place, about the cold, draughty air that seems to seep into her bones, as if the thick, dead stone walls, as if the mountain itself, were but an illusion, easily traversed by the outside wind. Who knows. This is Korriban. Still, her skin doesn’t crawl like the first time. She knows her way around, and walks straight towards the central hall. Malak follows behind her, clearly more anxious than she is. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. This is unwise. She’s known it from the start. She knows the woman can’t be trusted, knows the mistrust is mutual. This is the way of the Sith, a way she has learnt twice. And yet, in spite of all common wisdom, she feels she can trust her with this. After all, she knows. After their duel in the tomb, Yuthura knew who she was, what she meant to do, and yet, she kept her name secret, and granted her safe passage. Revan could have helped her, too, steered her away from the dark side, told her the Jedi would take her in… yet she didn’t. An ally among the Sith, or at the very least, a favourably disposed acquaintance, and the prospect of a more approachable leadership, seemed like too good an opportunity to pass. Perhaps she is the one who’s not to be trusted, then. The one who plots, the one who lies. The one who, somewhere, deep down, still has too much of the dark lord in her. This is why the Jedi saved her to begin with, and this is precisely why they need her now, to use what she has learnt and clean up the mess she’s left behind. If it can still be done.

They find Yuthura meditating, at the same place Uthar used to. She senses their presence the moment they get past the guards.

“What is it acolytes?”

Revan closes the distance and removes her cowl.

“We need to talk. Privately.”

Yuthura’s face lights up slightly before regaining its cold, unreadable composure. Truly, Revan feels bad for using her, for not helping her out when she could. Still, there’s a chance Yuthura might be useful to them, and this will have to be enough.

“Of course,” she answers. “If you will follow me to my chambers.”

They do not speak until Yuthura closes the door.

“So,” she says, leaning casually against the wall, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was hoping _you_ would be the one to tell me that.”

The Sith smirks.

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“How so?”

“Contrary to popular belief, this planet does have the holonet.”

Ah. Of course.

“Now tell me: why are you _truly_ here?”

“Oh, it’s a very long, complicated story. See, I’ve always felt that Korriban was a world of great archaeological interest and one of the main sources of …”

“Cut to the chase.”

Much to Revan’s surprise, Malak steps forward, lowering his hood.

“What Miss Thule means to say is that we’re here to crush the upstart who thought they could take my place and endanger the last of our navy by engaging Republic forces. It goes without saying that your assistance would be welcome.”

It’s a lie – partly, at least – but the menace in his voice feels real, so real that for an instant, Revan almost buys it. But ‘almost’ is not enough to fool Yuthura Ban.

“You know,” she chuckles, “I still cannot believe you got _Darth Malak_ to cross over to the Jedi. I’m impressed, truly. But as I’m sure you’re well aware, imperial forces are in shambles, and whoever took control of the faction you seek to stop hasn’t yet sought to make contact with the academy.”

“Are you denying us your help?”

Malak’s irritation is unequivocal, to the point that Revan feels the need to extend an arm and discourage him from stepping forward again. Better safe than sorry.

“I would help you if I could,” Yuthura says, “but I have no idea who took command of the fleet, and as you may imagine, my new position keeps me rather busy. I already have my hands full with all those student disappearances, and keeping up the pace of our excavation work has become near impossible. That I got sweet-talked into letting private contractors into the Valley of the Dark Lords doesn’t simplify the matter in the least.”

“Hold on,” Revan says, “private contractors? Doesn’t that go against… Sith traditions or something?”

“It does. But tradition’s value is relative at best. Knowledge, on the other hand…”

“Right. Yuthura, don’t take this the wrong way but since when do _you_ care about disappearances?”

“Oh, I don’t. Most of the time, anyway. The thing is, we usually find a body. Bones, at the very least, a lightsaber component here and there. We hear screams, find fresh blood. Even when they die in the tombs, someone stronger takes their chances and succeeds where they have failed. It only takes a few days. A couple weeks, at most.”

“And if there are no bodies it means…”

“That the students have been abducted, or left of their own accord, yes.”

“And you suspect the contractors are connected.”

Yuthura shrugs.

“Could be. We’ve searched their camp and found nothing, but with our dwindling numbers, the mercenaries know they’ve become indispensable. Just an hour ago, Esok asked for a raise. That Mandalorian scum _insists _we call him Captain, can you believe it?”

“How many students have you lost?”

“Fifteen in the past week. Not counting those we found, of course.”

“I’d like to have a talk with those ‘contractors’ of yours.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m not letting them in here, and we’re excavating smaller tombs further down the valley. If you want to engage them, you’ll have to walk.”

“_Engage_ them?”

“The area is restricted to Sith and excavation teams, and those mercenaries aren’t known for their sunny disposition. I’ll issue a permit, of course, but there have been… incidents, in the past.”

“You mean, in the two weeks I’ve been gone?”

“I admit things are not quite as I envisioned. But I shall not delay you any longer. You have nearly an hour’s walk to reach the encampment, and I assume you’ll want to be back before nightfall.”

When they step into the valley, it’s the same feeling again. The same feeling she got when she first set foot here, the same baleful, barren world she lied her way through the first time, the same canyons hissing with gusts of dust-laden wind, and yes, even now, even amidst the chaos that Yuthura and her have unleashed, even amongst the dying echoes of young lives destroyed too soon, one can still feel the power rustling beneath the surface, the dark secrets of the Sith festering in the tombs. Once can still feel the pull of this forgotten lore, the quiescent greatness of this world of corpses. That she could think of it as greatness… it frightens her. It sickens her. Perhaps it is a sign of who she used to be, further proof that Revan’s mind is not a dormant as she once thought. A reminder that the Dark Lord will always be a part of her. A warning that the edge is not as far as it may seem.

Her gaze lands onto one of the half-buried obelisks. She’s seen it before, of course, and didn’t see anything but an old block of stone – which it is. Only this time, she really looks at it. And it’s still nothing more than an ugly block of stone. But for whatever reason, she feels the need to get a closer look. Perhaps it’s just the wind playing tricks with her head again, the dark energy around them, or the spirits in the tombs, toying with her sense of reality. After all, she’s not that hard to trick: most of her memories are false. Either way, she doesn’t resist, and lays a hand on the stone. At first, nothing happens. Revan feels the carved runes underneath her fingertips, but they tell her nothing. Yet as she turns to leave, the sky – much like her robes – suddenly darkens. She’s all alone now, shaking and leaning against the obelisk, her mask discarded in the dirt as hot tears burn their way down her cheeks.

“There was no other way,” she sobs. “There was no other way.”

There’s no one to see her cry, no one to see her weak, so she gives in and lets herself collapse, her knees cracking slightly as they hit the ground.

“Revan?”

The voice is deep, but far-off, almost covered by the wind.

“Revan, can you hear me?”

When she finally summons up the will to look up, there’s a tall silhouette, walking her way from the canyon, but it’s getting darker, and she can’t make it out. She can feel the tuk’atas coming out of the tombs now, venturing out into the open in search of their next meal. Let them try. And then, all at once, the Force shrieks at her. In a fraction of a second, her blade is out. Across the valley, the figure dashes her way. Too late. A set of teeth sinks into her bicep.

Revan blinks, and realises Malak’s hand has landed onto her left arm. The wind is blowing, still, but there are no tuk’atas, and the sun is still high in the sky.

“Revan?”

She’s alright. Breathe. In and out. It’s in the past, now, and she’s alright.

“I’m alright,” she says.

“You look as though you’d seen a ghost.”

She stares down at her hand.

“I’m not so sure I haven’t.”

Malak’s eyebrows narrow ever so slightly, but he doesn’t press the question. _She_, however, needs to know.

“Something happened here, didn’t it?”

“If by ‘something happened here’ you mean you almost got killed for the fourty sixth time, then yes, something happened here.”

“Yes, I’d figured that out but… I was crying. I said something about having no other choice, and then I collapsed.”

“I know.”

“You weren’t close enough to hear that.”

“No. But I was at Malachor.”

Revan inhales sharply, but says nothing. Taris. Telos. Malachor. It all started with Malachor. Even _she_ knew what they had done. The order she’d given. How she’d become Revan the Butcher.

Malak gestures for her to step away from the obelisk.

“Come on, then. Enough visions for one day.”

And they resume walking, silent as the dead that surround them, up to a steep, narrow path that leads them further down the valley, past the tomb of Tulak Hord and into the lower, wilder part of the canyon. The images of the vision keep playing in the back of her mind. _Stop_. She wants to remember, she does, but this is getting her nowhere.

“You know, I’ve wondered about you”

The statement seems to come out of the blue, but she’s grateful for the momentary distraction. She looks up at Malak. He continues.

“About who you were – who you are – now that you’re… back.”

“You mean, while you were trying to kill me?”

She bites her tongue. Too late.

Malak looks down.

“Yes. But not at first. Only after…”

“The Leviathan.”

“Yes. Before that, I thought it was some clever game. I thought you remembered. I thought you wanted me dead.”

“I… I think I did want you dead. I could block it out most of the time, but when I thought of Taris…”

He nods. She thinks he understands.

“And then you told me who I was, and yes, you captured Bastila, and I was angry – how could I not be? – but… I kept thinking and thinking, and in the end, I suppose I didn’t have enough hate for the two of us.”

Malak inhales sharply and reaches a hand forward, but withdraws just as quickly.

“Look, I know how silly it sounds, and I know how little it helps, but… I’m sorry I can’t change what’s happened.”

“You and I both, Malak. You and I both.” Her hands are a little shaky, now. _Hero, villain, saviour, conqueror. You are all things, Revan, and yet, you are nothing._ Perhaps there is truth in that. And perhaps that’s the problem, too, because no matter what she does, no matter who she saves, the past will always be there, and she can’t just move on and pretend otherwise. The Jedi might tell her to. Perhaps with time… No. It’s not that easy. There’s no way it can be. Good and evil, love and hate, life and death… they don’t just cancel out. They pile up and up until, one day, they’re too heavy to carry alone. So perhaps – only perhaps – being around someone who understands will help. Or perhaps she’ll just end up digging herself deeper.

“So, who are you now?”

Good question.

“Well, my ID says I’m Jyn Thule...”

_But I know that’s not true._

“I know that. I meant… I don’t know. Do you still like piloting? Keep expired sweets in your wallet? Do you have… plans? dreams? People to share them with?”

At first, she is a little dumbstruck. And then…

“Is this about Carth?”

“Not specifically. I did ask about the sweets.”

“Sweets don’t expire.”

“Right.”

“Carth is nice, you know.”

“Good. That’s good. It’s not about Carth, but it’s good.”

“It _is_ about Carth, though, isn’t it?”

“Of course not! Look, I know you’re not… I’m not… well, things have happened.”

Now, _that_ is the understatement of the century.

“Yes, well, things are… complicated, right now. For all of us, I suppose.”

An uncomfortable silence settles in, and Malak looks away once more.

“Just… forget I asked that, will you?”

“Not a chance.”

He sighs.

“Of course.”

“That’s it? ‘Of course’? You’re not even going to argue a little?”

“I know a lost cause when I see one.”

Debatable, but that is a question for another day.

“Was I really that bad?”

Malak shakes his head, but his eyes crinkle almost imperceptibly.

“Bad is generous. I believe the appropriate term is ‘relentless’. Not that it should surprise you.”

“You know, I would hate to prove you right. So I guess that settles it. For now.”

Malak snorts.

“Sure. For now.”

And silence falls once more. They reach another cliff at the end of the path, too sharp to be climbed down without proper equipment.

“Look at that ship down th…”

“Hey! You there! This is a restricted area! Artifact transport only! Now head back where you came from before I … Oh Force...” The man stumbles backwards as they turn around, dropping his comlink as he starts running towards the small crevice that, no doubt, must lead to the landing pad below.”

“I’ve got to get down there before he warns them.”

“You’ve got to do what?”

“We don’t want half the camp shooting at us. Now, just help me land smoothly.’

“You’re insane.”

“We’ll talk about that later.”

And then she leaps forward, wincing slightly even as an invisible hand strains to slow down her fall. _Three, two, one_… there’s no crack as she hits the ground, which she supposes is good. She looks upwards and lifts a thumb up, before slipping into the ship’s cargo hold. _Piece of cake._


End file.
